


Sweet Poison

by navaan



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: BDSM, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consentacles, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, POV Female Character, Sex Pollen, Vines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-26 11:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21373555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: Barbara has been hit by a sex pollen of Ivy's making, now she needs her help. Ivy knows how to take advantage.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Pamela Isley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 112
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	Sweet Poison

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).

The vines reach for her and, Barbara shouted: “IVY!” Her voice bellowed through the glass-roofed penthouse that she had _known_ was the most likely place to find the person who was at the heart of her current predicament.

“IVY!” she shouted again at the top of her lungs. “These are you stupid pheromones and...”

A thorny vine shot out to wrap around her knee and pulled. Barbara nearly fell.

_At least_, she thought, _I have my Kevlar suit or this would have hurt._

It wasn’t the only reason why she was glad for costume and cowl right now though. Her cheeks were flushed, and her body was _on fire_.

She wanted to hide, cry with the pain and discomfort. But she had to...

“IVY! Goddammit!”

Her wrist was caught, her left knee trapped by two vines. She flipped a Batarang at them, the plant _screeched_, lashed out.

Her other ankle was caught, and she fought... her suit rubbing all the wrong places. Barbara gasped — _moaned_ really — the distress only so far away from delight.

Her panty was _wet_.

God, it was embarrassing.

She wanted to writhe and moan. Only her iron will could push down the haze.

The jungle of leaves and flowers and moving vines parted and Ivy appeared, sitting on a throne of branches, twigs, leaves, and petals. “Don’t hurt my babies,” she hissed, pursing her lips.

But Barbara couldn’t even mind her tone. All she could care about was that Ivy’s lips were as red as her fiery hair and — as inch by inch — her whole form was revealed, the haze clouding Barbara’s mind got harder to fight. Muscles flexed in naked light green thighs, and a leafy bodysuit did little to hide supple breasts. It left Barbara staring at a décolleté she’d envied a hundred times... that maybe she’d thought of sometimes when she’d touched her own chest in front of the mirror, gauging, comparing.

Not _lusting_.

Not the way she was _lusting_ now.

“My, my,” Ivy said, and she stepped from her hovering throne, her plants coming up to form a stair for her step by step as her delicate bare feet moved.

Had that display always been this erotic?

A vine came up, no thorns, soft buds at the end. It touched Barbara’s cheek, caressing it.

Barbara shivered.

“That’s why they didn’t only want poison then. Little Batgirl? Did they try to control you?”

The voice went right to her loins, set her insides on fire. God, she wanted to writhe in the grip of these vines and moan, beg... for Ivy? And only when she shook her head, put her mind back on fighting, she realized that Ivy’s tone hadn’t been amused or mocking.

_Angry._

“I need your help,” Barbara admitted. “It doesn’t stop... It...”

When had Ivy come so close?

Suddenly Ivy was inches away, and Barbara hadn’t realized that she’d _stopped_ fighting, that vines were holding her in their grip so completely now that it was hard to move. Her booted feet were no longer touching the ground.

Had Ivy come to her?

Had she been moved towards Ivy?

“What’s...?”

“You’re losing track,” Ivy said softly and reached up towards where Barbara’s face was hovering slightly above hers.

A thick vein was holding her by the neck, not chocking her but uncomfortable.

Ivy could kill her.

How had things gone so wrong so fast?

“You tried to heal yourself? Didn’t work?”

“No,” she nearly whimpered.

The hand on her cheek made it worse — the fire of _arousal_ that had been flooding her since this thing had started. She could smell the earthy scent of the room, the rosy scent of Ivy. The villain was so close Barbara could feel her breath on her skin, sweet and warm. Her will was slipping away.

“Imbeciles,” she said. “I will make sure they won’t be able to use any of my children’s pollen like this again.”

Then she licked her red-ruby lips.

Barbara held on to the last shriveling shred of her self control to not mimic.

“This is your fault,” she groaned, a pitiful sound.

The hand withdrew.

Barbara hated how much she missed it instantly.

Her body _yearned_ for the lost touched.

“In a way it is, I suppose,” Ivy said and the hint of a smile graced her features. “I will help you, Batbrat.”

_That_ — even in her state, Barbara knew — was much to easy. Ivy was loyal to her cause, to her green children, and sometimes to those she considered friends like Harley... but not to Bats. And Barbara had not yet given her any incentive... wasn’t able to _think_ clearly enough to barter.

“You... will?”

When had her breathing become labored?

Was she shivering?

Was she writhing or... When had the vines started moving? They were gripping her, slithering around her body like... fingers.

Ivy put a hand on Barbara’s stomach. She could barely feel it through the suit, and yet she _wanted_ to.

“Burns?”

Vines were still moving. Her legs were pulled apart. Ivy looked her over — the anger from before had given way to _fire_ of another kind. It was apparent how much she enjoyed this. The display. The power she had over her enemy, maybe.

Barbara was dressed entirely from the Bat-ears of her cowl to the heavy soles of her boots, and still she blushed as if she was naked in front of Ivy’s interested gaze.

Then she gasped. Thick, hard vines were touching her, writing between her legs, back and forth, so she could feel it.

Ivy chuckled. Then she leaned forward, hand still resting against Barbara’s stomach and whispered beside her ear: “This is the deal. There’s an antidote. But it’s much quicker if you just give in to it. I don’t mind seeing you through. Neither do my babies.”

There was no doubt what she was suggesting.

“After,” she continued, “I will make sure the imbeciles will never try and use my potions every again. Give them a taste of one of the other potions they own, perhaps.”

A vine had found a way under her mask, wriggling. Another was trying to get into the neck part of her suit. It was uncomfortable and scary — and she had just been propositioned by a vileness oozing sex.

And by now her panties were _dripping_, her body _ached_. It was painful to make her scream.

She did when the pain got worse.

Lips found hers.

The world focused on the soothing feel of the kiss.

The whole world narrowed down on it.

But it didn’t cool the fire, stoked it. It tasted like raspberry and cinnamon and... more heat. Barbara’s mind stumbled over it, just as her stomach caught fire in the flare that rushed through her — and shocked she realized she was kissing back, wanting more of the soothing, the taste, the touch...

But Ivy pulled away.

“Oops,” Ivy whispered against her cheek. “The lipstick wasn’t planned. But it’ll help.”

“Please,” Barbara gasped. “Please kiss me again. Please.”

“Careful, Batgirl. What will the big bad Bat say when he finds out.”

Batman? Who was that?

Only Ivy mattered. Only the inferno. Only Ivy could quench the building thirst, stop her pain.

No!

What was she thinking?

“What did you?”

“Shh,” Ivy said, kissed her repeatedly.

A tongue pushed into Barbara’s mouth, wet and warm, and aggressively demanding. It was all Barbara had ever wanted from a kiss and been afraid to ask for. The spike of fear just made it better, more powerful and lewd.

Helplessly she moaned, losing track of herself in the feeling of being _explored_ so intently.

She cried out, pulled away when she realized a hand was _touching_ skin. Ivy chuckled. Exploring vines had pushed Barbara’s uniform open, exposing her belly.

“Darling, darling, don’t be upset. I could have started with the mask.”

The mask.

Shock pulled her back from the brink of mindless pleasure long enough to remember where she was, who she as with. She wanted to shout her anger...

A soft thick, and fleshy vine was faster, pushing into her mouth and shutting her up.

“There’s a good girl. Wet it up. We might need it later,” Ivy suggested. Her voice was thick and husky. “You’ll like it. I do.” Her eyes turned away from Barbara. “Pull her wrists together, over her head. Lay her out for me,” she ordered her plants, and Barbara was positioned. 

No shred of control remained, as the vine started working Barbara’s mouth with the same aggressive forcefulness of the delicious tongue that was now denied to her.

She whimpered.

“Suck, Batgirl,” Ivy urged again, “you want me to take away the pain, don’t you? Be a sweet pet and I’ll make it all better.”

A hand had wedged itself in the tight pants of the batgirl suit. Barbara wanted to scream, but more vines were pushing at her mouth, slithering around her limbs. Soft fingers found her panties, stroking and teasing her swollen lips through the fabric.

“Oh, dear, how long did you suffer before you came looking for me, girl?”

She couldn’t answer. Her mouth was too busy sucking on the now wet vines that were stroking the inside of her wet cavity with expertise. Two vines were moving in and out of her mouth faster and faster and she was trying to not make it worse on herself, sucked to make them slow, push at her less aggressively.

Then the top part of her suit pushed up.

She couldn’t see who had done it, suspected vines again and felt the first fleshy plant appendage grip at her bra, leaves rustling against her skin.

A hand followed suit, pushing the fabric out of the way and kneading the flesh of her left breast. Then the soft lips of her tormentor — savior? enemy? _mistress_!! — found her nipple — sucking it into hardness, nibbling at it, teeth never painful.

The other hand — occupied much lower — wasn’t satisfied with touching fabric either. Fingers had found their way past Barbara’s panties and were siding against the soft, wet mound beneath.

It should have scared her, but it was intoxicating.

The feel of nails made her freeze, but her throat let go of a delighted moan, sounding like a plea around the vines. 

Lips uttered their answering moan against Barbara’ nipple. “You are ready already,  
aren’t you? Were all along?”

The first finger pushed in easily. Barbara _was_ slick and ready and dangling wantonly in the hold of the vines, sucking with abandon on the three thick and fleshy ones taking turns on her mouth, while Ivy’s fingers teased her, played her like an instrument.

She lost track, with the mounting of pleasure, lost any ability to think, resist, or fight. The fire turned into extasy. The vines let her scream out her first orgasm, leg shivering helplessly in their hold. She was too caught up in it to notice that it didn’t help the fire ebb at all.

Arms settled around her, a naked body over hers.

She was held up by vines, dangling upside down suddenly, face close to Ivy’s bare feet, then her stomach.

The musky scent of her arousal filled Barbara’s nostrils and she knew what Ivy wanted of her.

Aflame, _burning_ to please if it meant she’d be given more extasy, more of Ivy’s sweet poison touch, she licked her lips, still tasting of Ivy’s lipstick and the earthy tang of the plants. “Touch me,” Barbara demanded boldly.

Ivy laughed her delight.

“I’ll do you one better,” she promised, hands on Barbara’s now exposed thighs.

Her Batgirl boots were on the floor. So were her pants and panties.

When?

How?

Barbara — burning per of a firey mistress — couldn’t care. What mattered was how fast the pleasure would come back, how fast it would push away the building pain again.

A tongue licked expertly along her clit — again, again, teasing, pushing, tasting. Ivy used just enough teeth on her to make Barbara cry out. The pain was a pleasure, the extasy pain. Then Ivy’s tongue started working Barbara in earnest — paused. The mouth drew, leaving her to keen, ready to beg with words she couldn’t find.

“Don’t be selfish,” Ivy ordered. By now, Ivy was naked. The plants that dressed her had fallen away, setting her beauty free to be observed in full. Barbara wanted to touch and feel.

One of Barbara’s hands was set free and she used it to grab Ivy’s ass. Her own need surprised her, pushing her head between Ivy’s thighs immediately, putting her mouth to work without any more prompting. She begged for the pleasure she needed by giving it, drunken on Ivy.

But Ivy didn’t keep her waiting. She returned her lips to Barbara’s swollen sex immediately.

Ivy made her come first, made sure she finished her worship after anyway, the song of her orgasm a siren song in Barbara’s ears.

The green beauty screamed her orgasm into her little kingdom without shame, let the vines push Barbara down beside her on a bed of moss.

“Still burning isn’t it?”

Without waiting for an answer, Ivy kissed her again — less urgent, just as demanding.

“This has to go,” she declared.

Barbara still tasted the magic of the lipstick, still felt the calming haze of her orgasm.

Then her mask was gone.

“Ah,” Ivy said. “Should have known.”

Anger. Fear. It threatened to break through the haze.

“Should have known you’re a true beauty,” Ivy continued, kissed her again, made her forget the unhelpful emotions, brought back the heat that burned everything else away until Barbara found herself screaming out Ivy’s name in a tangle of limbs. They rode towards their next orgasm together, Barbara’s hands free to roam this time, but both their bodies entangled by vines. Ivy grasped one, kissed it, before she led it between Barbara’s legs and made Barbara watch as it slipped into her easily, like a long green cock.

“Enjoy,” Ivy whispered, but Barbara was already moaning her pleasure into her bosom, leaving appreciative bite marks, thanking her with touch and joy, while vines pleasured them both.

They remained a knot of limbs and plants, moving like one frantic body, sating each other and yet fanning the flames after.

Later, two vines would drive in and out of Barbara while she licked Ivy towards another climax.

Much later, Ivy would stroke her hair as she fell asleep, her face hidden against her soft breasts.

She’s wake alone, sated, sore, curled up on a patch of soft moss and covered in autumn leaves and rose petals — the rest of the penthouse empty and cold.

It would be romantic if it wouldn’t be so scary.

Her Batgirl costume would be waiting for her beside her plant bed. A red lipstick mark left by Ivy’s incredible mouth the only farewell.

* * *

Barbara wanted to hate herself for not having hated it — the sex, the glorious pleasure, _Ivy_. But she had never been good at lying to herself.

The next time they met on the scene of a crime, Ivy smiled at her. “Not in denial, Batgirl? Do you think of me at night?”

“New deal,” Barbara suggested. “I need to stop the terrorists in there. You help me out here, and you can tie me up for a whole 24 hours — use me anyway you want.”

She swallowed, stunned by her own presumptuousness and recklessness. 

She knew this wasn’t the attitude Ivy had expected.

She wasn’t sure it was the healthiest way to deal with having been taken advantage of. On the other hand the tingle between her legs said this was the best way to go, because it was what she wanted and there was no use pretending.

“Oh,” Ivy said. And she understood what Barbara was saying. “You bring the wine,” she whispered and made sure it sounded like “vine”, “I bring the real entertainment.”

Barbara had never understood what Batman saw in Catwoman. Why that was the one woman who could keep his attention was one of the criminals he had sworn to chase.

She licked her lips.

She was beginning to see the appeal. Even if she was going to be the prey when the chase was done.


End file.
